


This Is Where Things Get Complicated

by Katsala



Series: A Boy Named Danny Moony [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Body Horror, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Crack and Angst, Dementors, Gen, Give this boy a genuine interest for all of our sakes, Grief/Mourning, Loss of Child, Loss of Parent(s), Loss of pet (past), Memory Loss, Miscarriage, Nightmares, Non-Canonical Character Death, POV Arthur Weasley, POV Dobby, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Remus Lupin, POV Ron Weasley, Recollections of war, Road Trips, attempt at body horror anyway, british literature, its glossed over but it’s there, memory recovery, so warnings for violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-01-25 06:43:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21351940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katsala/pseuds/Katsala
Summary: 1993 is a year of questions. How did Sirius Black escape from Azkaban? Who killed Lucius Malfoy? And just what is new Hogwarts professor Bertha Jorkins hiding?Chapter 1: Arthur Weasley and the Man Who DiedChapter 2: Ron Weasley and the Search for the CrackChapter 3: Draco Malfoy and the Longest DayChapter 4: John Moony and the Prisoner of AzkabanChapter 5: Dobby Freeman and the Fille Fatale
Series: A Boy Named Danny Moony [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/871872
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	1. Arthur Weasley and the Man Who Died

“Weasley?”

Arthur Weasley looks up from his paperwork on enchanted necklaces to see Ramona Ketteridge from the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol standing in his office doorway. 

“Ah! Hello, Ketteridge. Is there something I can help you with?”

She bounces awkwardly on the balls of her feet. Her eyes have the telltale dark circles that everyone in MLEP has from working the Sirius Black case. (The Aurors, of course, look fine.) “Arthur, I’m sorry to bother you, but we’ve got a call out to the Malfoy house, the wife says it’s urgent, and I’ve got everyone else out on the Mundungus Fletcher tip or doing patrols, except Martha but she’s just got back from the Azkaban crime scene and she’s a wreck, and I wouldn’t ask otherwise but-“

“Of course I can help out,” Arthur tells her. “Goodness knows you lot need it nowadays.” Although he wants nothing less than to see Lucius Malfoy right now, Ramona is the good sort, still relatively new in the Ministry. Her brother Roger was assigned Ginny’s case. He grabs his wand, slips the photograph of Ginny on his desk into the pocket of his jumper, and heads with Ketteridge to the Floo. 

In a flash of green they arrive in the Malfoy’s living room. Narcissa Malfoy, her normally pinched expression shattered, leaps up from her chair when they enter. 

“Oh, thank Merlin,” she says shakily. “Please, I need you to take him away, I can’t have my son see his father like this-“

“Oh my God,” Ketteridge breathes.

On the floor of the Malfoy’s living room lies Lucius Malfoy, stiff, eyes wide and unseeing, with what looks like black water dripping from his nose and mouth. He is unmistakably dead.


	2. Ron Weasley and the Search for the Crack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “There is a crack, a crack in everything/That's how the light gets in”- Anthem, Leonard Cohen.
> 
> See also Fringe, season 2 episode 21, “Northwest Passage.”

Molly Weasley sends her children off to school with a tighter-than-strictly-necessary hug, sandwiches of their proper preference, and strict orders to use the buddy system. Fred and George already have that taken care of, so Percy is left to pair off with Ron. 

Percy, of course, already has Head Boy duties to attend to, so when he finds a compartment with a teacher in it- Bertha Jorkins, according to the labels on all of her luggage- he promises to check in every thirty minutes, pats Ron’s shoulder awkwardly, and leaves to find Penelope Clearwater. 

Ron, trying to make small talk while waiting for Hermione and Neville, asks if she used to work at the Ministry- he thinks he recognizes the name from stories his dad told him. Professor Jorkins answers by telling him all about the gambling habits of Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. He takes that as a yes. He still doesn’t know what she teaches. 

Hermione and Neville arrive at the same time. Hermione shows off the new rubber bands for her braces- red and gold for Gryffindor- and her new ugly-cute cat, Crookshanks. Neville tells them about the trip he and his grandmother took over the summer to see magical tulips in Amsterdam. Ron doesn’t say much of anything. 

Just as Neville gets to the part about magic tulips’ impressive jump heights, the train stops. A chill goes through Ron, and the window begins to frost over. Professor Jorkins, who up until this point has been preoccupied with trying to play Cat’s Cradle, slides off her seat and positions herself between the three of them and the compartment door. 

Ron suddenly feels as if he can’t breathe. He feels as if he’s waking up in the Hospital Wing all over again, being told they found him and Neville in a heap in a second floor corridor, being told, all over again, that Ginny is gone, being told they found the monster- a giant spider- dead in the courtyard, overhearing Snape tell his father that they’d cut open the spider’s stomach but found no sign of Ginny, and he and Fred and George and Percy had come home from school early and his mother had cried like her heart had been ripped out, and-

(and there’s a bathroom and the sound of hissing and bright red hair spread across slimy wet tiles and he forgets)

Distantly, he hears Professor Jorkins say, “Hullo! He’s not here, I’m afraid. Still, it’s lovely to know you lot are looking out for us. Ta!” And then she slammed the door in the black hooded thing’s face.

Ron can suddenly breathe again. Professor Jorkins, still standing between them and the door, turns around and hands Ron a handkerchief, embroidered with the name ‘Bertha Rose Jorkins’ in the corner. “No shame in crying about it, my dear.” He hadn’t even realized he was until she mentioned it, and he quickly dabs at his eyes, embarrassed. Hermione and Neville both look shaken up, but neither of them are crying. Jorkins continues, “They’re quite nasty things, Dementors. Why, I remember hearing about Minister Fudge’s first annual inspection of Azkaban-“

She continues talking uninterrupted the whole rest of the train ride, guarding the compartment door, waving at Percy every thirty minutes like clockwork. When they finally arrive at Hogwarts she tells him to keep the hanky. He hasn’t felt this relaxed in months. 

Classes are, for the most part, normal. Percy makes him wait for a Prefect escort between each classroom, which usually switches between Cedric Diggory, who is in turn followed by an ever-present mass of fourth-year Hufflepuff girls; Penelope Clearwater, who makes them quiz her on practice questions for her Transfiguration NEWT; and Percy himself, during which he and Hermione usually talk about the history of the Ministry of Magic. It’s dead boring, but at least they enjoy themselves. Hermione’s eyes light up when she discusses foreign policy. It’s kind of cute. Sort of. In the way Scabbers is cute, like an adorable fluffy animal way, not like a girl. Obviously.

For their electives, he has both Neville and Hermione in Care of Magical Creatures, taught by new teacher Professor Grubbly-Plank, and just Neville in Divination. Hermione has apparently been going to take Divination as well as Muggle Studies, but she’s dropped them off her schedule after the end of last year. He squeezes her hand and then they stop talking about it. 

Honestly, he thinks she’s lucky she dropped Divination. Trelawney keeps predicting that someone close to him will try to secretly betray him and it’s bloody irritating. 

Defense Against the Dark Arts is… interesting. It is, apparently, the subject Professor Jorkins teaches. 

“There will be optional extra credit opportunities,” she says, without preamble, on the first day of class, “in the form of book reports. They will be accepted up until the day before the Final Exam, no exceptions, and may be over any appropriate piece of British literature. If you do not think a book is appropriate, error on the side of caution and choose something else. If you have further questions, see me after class.” She squints at her hand, trying to read the smudged writing. “Now then. Today we’ll be discussing cursed objects. The Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office was created in 1917 under the leadership of Irving Latimer-Greengrass. Oh, the stories I could tell about him; his alleged affair with Muggle woman Prudence Darwin, for example-“

They only manage to get back on topic for the last fifteen minutes of class. It’s brilliant. 

Additionally, Dueling Club is still active under Flitwick’s instructions. The first area of focus is the Shield Charm, and there’s special tutoring on the Patronus Charm for sixth and seventh years. Ron would just as soon not have gone but Percy drags him along. He, Neville, and Hermione (reluctantly) spend the Patronus tutoring session cheering Percy on. It starts to feel like things will be okay.

Things are not okay. 

Neville is in a bad mood because Myrtle is avoiding him: he keeps visiting her toilet, as well as some of her other usual haunts, but she’s never there. Hermione and Ron are in a bad mood from arguing over her mangy menace of a cat, who keeps trying to get at Scabbers. Ron spends the day snappish, Hermione waspish, and Neville looks like he did all the way back in first year, as if he’s about to be kicked.

Things just feel  off.  There’s a murderer loose and Ginny is gone and everyone just expects him to do homework? Homework, despite what Hermione might say, is not that important.

“Fine,” Hermione says when he voices this to her. “We’ll find something important to do.” She snaps shut her Arithmancy textbook. “Why do you think Professor Dumbledore hired Professor Jorkins?”

“Seriously? Just because you don’t like her teaching methods doesn’t mean-“

“It’s not about her teaching methods,” Hermione interrupts hotly. “Just think- her job experience was as a journalist at the Daily Prophet and a Ministry worker, primarily in the Department of Magical Sports and Games. She just doesn’t seem qualified. I think Dumbledore must’ve hired her for a specific reason.”

“And,” Neville chimes in, “she’s the DADA professor. We’ve had loads of bad luck with those! Quirrell was working with- with You-Know-Who, and Lockhart was secretly a memory snatching fraud! Maybe Professor Jorkins has a dark secret too.”

“Statistically speaking, it’s pretty likely.” Hermione pats her textbook.

Ron considers it. “Why do you think she has such a bad memory?”

“Maybe she’s had something done to her like what Lockhart did to his victims. Maybe she secretly killed a monster and he hadn’t published the story yet,” Neville theorizes.

“Hmm. I can look into ways of magically retrieving memories,” Hermione says. She smiles at Ron, but it seems slightly strained. “And maybe, if we can fix whatever happened to Professor Jorkins’ memory… we could fix whatever happened to yours.”

“…oh.”

(hissing red hair reading backwards and he forgets)

It’s an odd feeling, remembering you’ve forgotten something important without remembering what it is.

“And then the little girl parted her hair to reveal… a lightning scar!”

“”I keep telling you, Seamus, that is not how reincarnation works,” Parvati Patil says, pointing her spoon at him. 

“I thought it was scary,” Colin Creevey protests, filling the pockets of his robe with pumpkin pasties before the tables are magically cleared. 

Percy and the other Gryffindor prefects begin to heard everyone back to the tower, with Seamus and Parvati still arguing about both Hinduism and something called Freytag’s Pyramid. Ron makes a mental note to ask Bill what it is. Percy insists on holding his hand, which is why Ron, Neville, and Hermione are among the first people to see the Fat Lady’s portrait, completely shredded. 

The Fat Lady turns up in another painting, shaken up and hurt but alright. Ron knows, as every wizard does, that paintings aren’t really people, but they aren’t nothing, either. He’s glad she’s okay. 

The rest of the night is spent on the floor of the Great Hall, theorizing about how and why Black attacked the castle, pretending to sleep, and then continuing to theorize at a lower volume. Most people agree he’s probably here to finish the job of taking out the Malfoy family, but Fred and George think, or are at least pretending to think for a gag, that Black is after Hermione, who defeated Voldemort as a first year. 

Hermione huffs and retreats into her sleeping bag, tense, and Ron’s about to tell them to knock it off when Neville says, barely quavering, “Shut up. It isn’t funny.”

Ron high fives him and continues pretending to sleep, this time with his own sleeping bag slid three strategic inches closer to hers.

Memory Retrieval Phase One begins in late November with the seemingly mundane method of retracing their steps. Given that Professor Jorkins can’t just leave the school to walk around England and that Ron and Neville already went over that second floor corridor so obsessively last term that McGonnagal called them to her office and gave them each a biscuit, Hermione brings out a new approach. 

Professor Trelawney lights lavender and sandalwood incense and hands everyone, including a resisting Hermione, a cup of strong green tea. Ron sips it, eyes closed, as he listens to her instructions. 

“I’d like you all to choose a phrase, something simple that you can repeat over and over again. Once you have it, you must breathe deeply. Repeat your phrase in time with your breathing, and imagine, on each exhale, your third eye opening wider and wider.”

After his seventeenth recitation of ‘Chudley Cannons,’ he starts to feel slightly floaty. Following Trelawney’s voice, he reimagines the day Ginny disappeared and tries to picture it as a series of photographs. The idea is to see where the sequence gets mucked up. 

Snapshot: Him and Neville smuggling spoons out of the Great Hall. 

Snapshot: Taking Hermione’s Transfiguration notes for her. 

Snapshot: Neville taking Hermione’s Herbology notes for her. 

Snapshot: Bribing Lavender Brown to take Hermione’s Potions notes for her.

Snapshot: Researching vampires with Neville. It’s Friday. Neville is about to go to his date with Myrtle. 

(red paint dripping red in his vision what is his mother going to say and he forgets)

Snapshot: Taking down Lockhart and realizing he was a fraud. 

(and she looked dead on the floor and then she woke up and she was so perfect he wanted to vomit and he forgetsforgetsforgets)

Snapshot: Waking up in the Hospital Wing. Percy was crying and Fred and George didn’t even have the heart to take the mickey out of him for it. 

Ron opens his eyes. “The bathroom,” he says at the same time Professor Jorkins says, “1982.”

Neville turns to him. “The bathroom…” he says quietly. “I don’t know why I didn’t realize sooner. Nobody has seen Myrtle since Ginny disappeared. Whatever happened to Ginny might’ve happened to Myrtle too!”

“But Myrtle can’t leave the school grounds,” Hermione muses. “She told us that the Ministry of Magic keeps her here. So whatever happened to her, she’s still here. And if we can find her, she might know what really happened!” 

Moaning Myrtle. 1982.

Over Christmas, Neville and Hermione agree to stay at school and search the grounds for Myrtle. Ron goes home. 

It’s a gloomy affair. Bill and Charlie come to visit. They each bring Mum a dozen roses, Charlie’s a bit singed at the edges. Ron spends his time wearing his usual maroon sweater, playing chess with Percy in the morning and listening to Celestina Warbeck with mum in the evening. It may not be as exciting as ghost hunting, but, he reminds himself when he looks at the empty chair left at the kitchen table, this is where he needs to be. 

Two days before it’s time to head back to Hogwarts, Ron loses Scabbers. They can’t find him anywhere- Percy helps him look all over the house and yard. Charlie theorizes that Scabbers, being old and a bit sickly, may have crawled off to die in peace. 

Fred and George nick a bottle of Firewhiskey from the liquor cabinet and throw a funeral. It’s a beautiful service. Percy gives a long eulogy that leaves Bill in tears, and they burn a fake rat made out of sticks to symbolize “the bright, fleeting nature of life.” Dad offers to buy Ron an owl for his next birthday; Charlie offers to buy him a dragon.

It’s a good Christmas, under the circumstances. A happy Christmas. 

Hermione and Neville find no signs of Moaning Myrtle; they do almost get detention for stealing some plant called Gillyweed out of Snape’s potion ingredients in order to search the Lake, though. Hermione glows with pride when she relays the story to him, her braces catching the light and shining like fire. 

As they eat breakfast on the morning of the day they’re about to start Memory Retrieval Phase Two, the owls swoop down with the post. Lee Jordan unfurls his copy of the Prophet, reads the headline, and drops the newspaper in shock. 

It’s all anyone can talk about for the rest of the day: famed Auror Mad-Eye Moody coming out of hiding to arrest Peter Pettigrew, one of Black’s supposed victims. Black is exonerated (Hermione defines the word for them) of killing Pettigrew and the twelve Muggles; its theorized that he wasn’t a Death Eater at all. The Dementors aren’t recalled to Azkaban, but are given strict orders to subdue Black without using the Kiss. 

A footnote in the article is there to remind readers that Black was the prime suspect in the Lucius Malfoy case. With him probably being innocent, the case has begun to fall apart. (Ron kindly doesn’t say anything when he runs into Malfoy in the bathroom between classes, his eyes suspiciously wet.)

Despite all the excitement, Hermione insists they continue as planned, which is easy for her to say, since her half of the plan is reading through every copy of the Daily Prophet published in 1982. Ron and Neville, on the other hand, are supposed to go over every inch of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom for clues, “On your hands and knees if necessary,” Hermione commands. 

…it’s really gross. 

Girls have actually started to use this bathroom again since Myrtle disappeared, and it shows. Someone didn’t even flush. 

They close and lock the door and get to work. It takes them three hours to clear the first stall, including the thirty minutes spent jiggling the flush lever different ways to see if anything happens. 

They head back to Professor Jorkins’ office, where, to their surprise, Malfoy is sitting in one of the armchairs, reading a thick book titled “Lord of the Rings”. Hermione and the professor are ignoring his presence, Hermione’s bushy hair pulled up in a messy ponytail and her sleeves rolled up to her shoulders. 

“Hullo, boys,” Professor Jorkins says. “I suppose this means it’s time to call it a night?”

“Yes ma’am,” Neville says. 

“Wonderful. Thank you for your help, Ms. Granger; we can pick up with the other 353 issues tomorrow.” Without looking, she adds, “And that goes for you too, Mr. Malfoy. I’m sure Professor Snape wouldn’t be happy with me if I kept one of his favorite Slytherins out of bed. Feel free to take the book with you.”

She filters them out of her office and slams the door. There’s an awkward five seconds where they’re all just standing there, silently staring, before Malfoy hugs the book to his chest and takes off running. 

“I really wish we didn’t have to feel bad for him,” Ron mutters. 

Phase Two continues, one stall at a time. They get stuck for almost a week on Stall 5 after Neville discovers some suspicious graffiti in Latin, but unfortunately it just turned out to be a limerick about Dumbledore’s underwear. After that, though, they made quick work of the other stalls. They’re just about to start on the sinks when Hermione bursts into the bathroom, waving the August 5th and August 9th editions of the Daily Prophet. 

“We’ve found it!” she exclaims. “Oh, and don’t worry about Professor Jorkins, she did faint but I had Malfoy take her to the hospital wing-“

“What?!” Ron says, momentarily cutting through her excited babbling. 

“Oh, don’t worry, she’s fine otherwise I wouldn’t be here, but we found it! Look at this!” She shows them two obituaries circles in red ink- one for Bartemius Crouch Jr. and the other for Mrs. Desdemona Crouch. Neville goes still. 

“We need to go to Dumbledore.”

“And I think-“ Hermione continues.

“We need to go to Dumbledore!” he shouts at her. 

Hermione snaps her mouth shut with a click. She stuffs the newspapers into her pockets and grabs both their hands. “Of course. Let’s go.”

They make the walk to Dumbledore’s office in silence. Hermione holds their hands so hard her knuckles go white and Neville holds hers right back. 

Barty Crouch and his son are arrested the following weekend. The Ministry is in a panic. According to Dad, Fudge is pushing to give Professor Jorkins an Order of Merlin Second Class as damage control. The entirety of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Department of International Cooperation are under review. 

Professor Jorkins’ classes are cancelled for the whole week while she gives testimony. She assigns two chapters of reading and a twelve-inch report on the Unforgivable Curses. Before she leaves she gives him, Neville, and Hermione each a homemade bathroom pass and a wink. Ron’s has orange glitter on it. 

The search goes faster now that they have Hermione with them. They go over the sinks with a fine-toothed comb. Ron gets stuck on Sink 6. He doesn’t know why, but he keeps losing focus. His eyes skate over it again and again. He feels the beginnings of a headache forming. 

“Do you mind if we switch sinks, mate?” he asks Neville. “I’m having no luck over here.”

Hermione’s Head pops up from where she was studying pipes. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. It’s like I can’t get my eyes to focus on it.”

“The whole thing, or is it any particular part?” she interrogates. 

Ron’s forehead wrinkles. “The faucet,” he says after a pause. “Something’s weird about the faucet.”

She walks over to him, her eyes closed tightly, and feels blindly for the faucets of 6 and 7. She runs her hands over both of them and says, confused, “They’re not the same. There’s some kind of fixture on 6.”

Ron tries to focus his eyes. Now that he knows what he’s looking for, it’s easier. Beside him Neville does the same. “It’s… a snake,” Neville says, surprised. 

The three of them exchange a look. 

They decide, with heavy hearts, that they probably shouldn’t blow up the sink themselves, and instead go and get McGonnagal.

Once the sink is rubble- easily fixable rubble, she assures them- she sends them to retrieve Flitwick, Sprout, and Snape to help her explore the secret tunnel they’ve uncovered. 

A half hour after that, Sprout returns, wafting along an unnatural still, smokey-looking Myrtle. She says, unsteadily, “They’re still searching, Mr. Weasley, but I must tell you, there seems to be no sign of her. I’m terribly sorry.”

Hagrid is let out of Azkaban after the basilisk is found, dead and rotting. He sends a letter to Dumbledore which, the headmaster informs the school at dinner, said that he would not be returning to Hogwarts. Charlie later sends Ron and the others word that Hagrid got a junior position at the dragon reserve in Romania. 

Gryffindor receives 300 points for them finding the Chamber, snagging them the House Cup in addition to the Quidditch Cup. Oliver Wood is beaming.

It’s the last day of term. They’re going home tomorrow. 

They still haven’t found Ginny. The only other thing in the Chamber was a blank, completely magicless diary. 

Ron pushes his mashed potatoes around on his plate. He wishes he felt hungrier. 

Last night, while he was packing, he came across Professor Jorkins’ handkerchief. It feels heavier than it should be in his pocket. 

“You alright, mate?” Neville asks. 

“Yeah. I’m just not hungry. I think I might take a walk, clear my head.”

Hermione squeezes his hand before he goes. Up the table, sitting next to Primrose Edwardson, Percy gives him a worried smile. 

The walk to the edge of the school grounds is eerily quiet. As he gets closer, even his breath seems quieter. Even his heartbeat. 

The Dementors swoop down, black and silent and sweeping, and-

(She was already laying there when they reached the Chamber. Her skin was sickly white. There had been an older boy standing over her, smirking, and then- suddenly- the reflection of the boy vanished and Ginny had… changed. Oily black tendrils had spread from the book over her, wrapping her up like a spider with a fly. Then it disappeared, revealing an older girl, her red hair longer and wilder. When she’d stood up and he’d seen her face, she was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. And then he blinked and realized he had no memory of what she looked like. She’d spoken with a voice that wasn’t Ginny’s, and she’d grabbed his arm with unnatural strength and written on his arm the word-)

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

Ron is on his back, staring up. Above him is a glowing silver sheep, chasing off a Dementor. His breath comes in ragged gasps and his arm feels wet and hot. 

“Ron!” Percy’s voice comes as a heavy body throws itself protectively over Ron. His glasses are askew and his eyes are wide. “What the bloody hell were you thinking?!”

Ron pushes him off and rolls up his sleeve. Black ink is dripping down his skin- he can just barely make out the word it used to spell. Obliviate.

“I know what happened to Ginny,” Ron tells him. 


	3. Draco Malfoy and the Longest Day

Before Draco was born, his mother adopted a pet cat- an Abyssinian named Laozi. His father didn’t allow it on the furniture, but Draco is sure both his parents knew he let it sleep in his bed at night, curled up on top of his feet, purring.

It died when he was seven. Kidney failure. His mother buried it in the backyard under a rose bush; he had watched her from the window. It was the first time anything he’d cared about had died. 

He doesn’t know why he can’t stop thinking about that now.

“Mr. Malfoy. I need to speak with you.”

Draco blinks. Jorkins, the new DADA professor, is standing in front of his desk. Everyone else is filtering out of the room, with the exception of Crabbe and Goyle, who are hanging back, waiting for him. He hadn’t even realized class was over. 

“Go on, guys. I’ll catch up,” he says, waving them off. 

Once they leave, Jorkins hands him a numbered list on a piece of parchment. 

“These,” she says, “are all the assignments you’ve missed. I’m concerned that if this trend continues you will be unable to achieve a passing grade. We need to talk about your options.”

He stares at her, with her greasy hair in her messy bun and words scribbled up both her arms and her pale, fishy eyes looking at him with the same pity they’ve had all semester, pity that he’d never thought he’d hate so much before this summer, and he gets up and leaves. 

“Mr. Malfoy,” she says warningly. 

He keeps walking. He reaches for the door, but with a bang and a flash of blue it slams shut, almost crushing his fingers. Turning around he sees Professor Jorkins with her wand held lazily in her left hand. The pity is gone from her eyes, replaced with something calculating. 

“Detention, Malfoy. Three weeks. For every one you miss I will deduct fifty House points from Slytherin. I will see you in my office Friday after dinner.” She flicks her wand and the door clicks back open. “What class do you have next?” 

“…Potions.”

“Mm. Tell Severus I kept you late. If he has a problem with it he can take it up with me.” She pauses again as if waiting for something. Pauses. Pauses. “Go. You can go now.”

“Oh.” Draco backs out of the classroom slowly and, once he’s out of range of the door, runs. 

“Pick a book.”

“…what?” Draco asks, still standing in the entrance of her office- just out of range of the door. 

“Pick a book. Read it.” Jorkins gestures to the overstuffed bookshelf against the wall, then goes back to grading papers. Instead of a quill she’s using some kind of small plastic tube, with a little metal tip at one end. 

Draco grabs one of the books at random- the title reads  _Frankenstein_. He sits down in one of the orange velvet armchairs, opens the book, and begins to read. 

When he looks back up the sky outside the windows is dark. Jorkins stands over him with a cup of tea. 

“Do you take cream and sugar?”

“Just sugar,” he says. “Two sugars.” That’s the way his father took it. 

Jorkins fixes his tea and hands it to him. With a tilt of her head she asks, carefully, “How do you like the book?”

“It’s fine. For a Muggle book.”

“Mmm.” She sips her own tea, smiling. “A high compliment from you, Mr. Malfoy. Carry on.”

He gets about three-quarters of the way through the book before she interrupts him again to tell him he can leave. “But,” she offers, “you may take it with you to finish on your own time, if you like.”

Draco scoffs. “No, thanks.”

Jorkins smiles. “Alright. Have a good night, Mr. Malfoy. Sleep well.”

Draco hasn’t slept well since it happened. 

He dreams of pictures of Sirius Black and his mad, wild eyes; he dreams of the giant squid in the lake dragging him down into the depths, of dark water filling his lungs; he dreams of his mother waking him up with bloodshot eyes; he dreams of Laozi. 

(Tonight is a Laozi night. Draco is digging up the spot under the rose bush- dirt is under his fingernails and the thorns have scratched his arms but he can’t stop digging- he can hear the deep purr rumbling from the ground, knows he has to reach it-)

He wakes up. 

His breath comes ragged. His back is stuck wetly to the sheets. He peeks out from his bed curtains to see if he woke anyone and finds, to his mortification, that Goyle is doing the same. 

“Uh… you must’ve heard the noise too? I don’t know what it was.” Goyle shrugs awkwardly. “It was probably nothing. Good night.” He ducks back behind his curtains and disappears. 

Draco lays back down. Sleep doesn’t come. 

Halfway through his next detention he finishes the book. It feels oddly like losing a baby tooth- a great catharsis that leaves behind a hole. 

The instant after he closes it, Jorkins is standing in front of him, holding a cup of tea. 

“Do you take cream and sugar?” she asks brightly. 

“Just… two sugars,” he reminds her. He didn’t even see her get up from her desk. 

She plunks the sugar into the cup and hands it to him. “Feel free to take a ten-minute break, and then I’ll expect you to write the report. Eight inches should suffice.”

“What report?” Draco says cautiously, sipping tea. 

“The extra credit book report I mentioned at the beginning of the year.” When his expression doesn’t change, she sighs. “You’ve never written a book report before, have you? You know what? Just tell me why you liked it. Eight inches.” She heads back to her desk, muttering darkly about the failings of the magical education system.

It’s Halloween night. Draco is curled up on the floor of the Great Hall, his purple sleeping bag wrapped tightly around him, and is trying not to throw up. He can’t breathe. Goyle is holding his hand and the others are pretending not to notice and he’s never loved them more, because he doesn’t want them to see him like this but he can’t stop, Black was in the castle, Black was here, and what is his mother going to do if she loses both of them-

Something lands next to his head with a ‘click.’ He manages, with some effort, to focus his eyes on it, and realizes it’s another of those small plastic tubes with the metal tip that Professor Jorkins writes with, only it’s been streaked with pink paint and has a smooth, flat pebble tied to it with dirty twine. 

He looks up to see who dropped it; his eyes meet that of Loony Lovegood, even paler than Professor Jorkins’. She says airily, “Keep it.”

“Hurry up, Lovegood,” the Head Girl says, exasperated. “Or you can hold it until morning.”

“I’m coming,” she says, and floats away.

Draco grabs the trinket with his free hand and holds it tight. Slowly, as each breath goes by, his hands stop shaking, and his grip on the trinket and Goyle loosens, until he can’t remember what comes next and he drifts off into sleep. 

Draco is approximately a quarter of the way through  _Orlando: A Biography_, his legs thrown over the side of the orange chair, when Professor Jorkins arrives with tea. He’s about to remind her how he takes it when he spots the words ‘two sugars!!!’ written on her right wrist. 

She smiles at the book. “That was my dad’s favorite. He loved Virginia Woolf.” She sits down in the chair next to him. Motioning to the bookshelf with her teacup, she continues, “All of those were his. I inherited them when he died. He was a teacher at the University of Cambridge. British Literature and Journalism.”

“What was his name?” Draco asks idly, blowing on his tea. 

“I don’t remember.”

He looks up at her. Her eyes are somehow both sharper and more far away than he’s ever seen. “Your memory,” he says slowly, feeling dumb. “It’s really bad, isn’t it? Not just normal bad.”

“Yes. Yes, it is.” She takes a sip of tea. “I just have to be okay with what I do remember. His books, his laugh, his aftershave…” She chuckles. “When I was a little girl I used to use it as perfume.”

“My father’s cologne was sort of spicy. It had nutmeg and vanilla, I think.”

“I sorry he’s gone.”

Draco laughs without humor. “You’re probably the only one.”

“Make no mistake, Draco. I didn’t know your father personally but I knew of him very well. By all accounts he was a selfish, unpleasant man. But he loved you and your mother very much.” She finishes her tea with a small slurp. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you different.” She glances at her watch. “Almost time to go. You can take it with you to finish on your own time, if you like,” she says, nodding to the book. 

“I’d like that,” he says. He sips his tea. It’s perfect. 

He finishes the book and the essay in time to hand them in on Monday. Professor Jorkins smiles at him brightly, pale blue eyes gleaming. “Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. Enjoy your Fridays.”

It’s a Friday evening. The weather outside is uncharacteristically bright and balmy. Draco has no detention and no looming homework deadlines. He is completely free. 

He has nothing to do. 

He’s been wandering the halls for half an hour, just to get out of the dorm, when he comes across Lovegood, sitting in the alcove behind a statue of Lachlan the Lanky. She’s wearing sunglasses inside and reading a book upside down, and last year he never would’ve given her a second look because she didn’t deserve it. It is not last year. 

“Hello, Lovegood,” he says. 

“Mm. Hello, Malfoy.”

“…thank you for the pen.” He’d figured out the name of it after cornering Creevey in the library and interrogating him on it, but she doesn’t need to know about that. It’s embarrassing enough that he has to know about it. 

“I find pink to be a good color for encouraging sleep. I painted my room pink after my mum died.” She turns the page, supremely unconcerned. 

“Cool. Do you want to hang out?” Draco asks before he can stop himself. 

She looks up quickly, pushing her sunglasses down on her nose so he can look her in her excited eyes. “Oh! No one’s ever asked me to hang out before! I’d love to hang out with you!”

They wind up playing Exploding Snap. Lovegood is a worthy opponent, but he suspects, based off her sly smile, that she might be cheating. As they play she tells him about the latest article her father is working on about Heliopaths. Four hours later, with the score 10-6 in her favor, he concedes defeat. He kisses her on the cheek as her prize and heads off to dinner.

(He dreams of Sirius Black helping him write his Herbology homework with a pink pen; the longer Black holds the pen the more his hand bleeds, until he falls to the ground, white and empty. He wakes up more confused than anything.)

He and Mum spend Christmas at his grandparents’ house. Abraxas and Amalthea Malfoy live in a well-kept house in Berkshire with a House Elf named Cosmey. She and Dobby were related somehow, Draco recalls. They have the same big green eyes. They never did find the Elf after he disappeared this summer. 

They spend most of the time trying to pretend no one is missing from the gathering. Mum and Grandfather play a disgusting amount of Gin Rummy. Grandmother sleeps- she’s not doing well in her old age. Draco, after finishing all his homework, sequesters himself in the study and reads through Grandmother’s old romance novels. He writes a book report for six of them before almost being caught by Mum; he throws them away when she’s not looking, embarrassed. 

For his presents he receives clothes, candy, a book on Quidditch, a renewal for his Daily Prophet subscription, and a brand new racing broom. An owl arrives on the 27th with an extra gift- a ring topped with a beetle carved out of cork. The card simply reads, “L.L.”

He’s wearing it the day school restarts. Lovegood sees it across the Great Hall at the feast and smiles beatifically. He smiles back. 

On the day Peter Pettigrew is arrested and Sirius Black is rumored to be innocent, Gregory finds him by the Lake, skipping stones. Luna finds them both ten minutes later.

There are extra points given for screaming. Draco wins this time; Luna gives him the now-customary kiss on the cheek as a prize, and Gregory does the same. 

(He dreams he walks down to the living room and finds all three of them together- Draco, his mother, and his father, black water dripping from mouths and noses. Somewhere far away, Luna Lovegood sings the color pink.)

“Oh.” Draco stands awkwardly in the doorway of Professor Jorkins’ office, staring at her and Granger examine a massive pile of old newspapers. 

“Hullo, Mr. Malfoy. Feel free to come on in. I assume you’re here for the books?” The professor asks nonchalantly. 

Draco is torn between heading to the shelf and running away under Granger’s reluctantly-pitying-gaze, but Professor Jorkins just sighs and waves her wand. The door slowly but insistently shoves him into the room and clicks shut behind him. Draco keeps his head down, grabs a book at random- a thick one titled  The Lord of the Rings\- and settles into the orange armchair. 

He’s only a few pages in when something large and fluffy jumps into his lap. Draco freezes, eyes going wide, but Granger says authoritatively, “You can pet him if you like, he doesn’t bite.”

The feel of the fur under his hands and the gentle purr accompanying it remind him of Laozi. It’s a surprisingly nice feeling. 

It continues being nice for the next two weeks- him reading, them scouting newspapers, Crookshanks curled up with him and blending into the chair- until one night there’s a thud. Draco looks up and sees Professor Jorkins sprawled across the floor, limp. Granger, looking disturbingly put together, grabs a red pen and circles two of the articles before going over to check on her. Draco, moving Crookshanks off his feet, follows. 

She’s breathing, and in a few moments her eyes flutter open, but she’s obviously still disoriented. 

Granger grabs the newspapers off the table. “Take her to the Hospital Wing!” she calls over her shoulder, running out the door. 

Draco exchanges a look with Crookshanks before helping Professor Jorkins to her feet. They make their way to the Hospital Wing slowly, with her babbling the whole way, “Brian, his name was Brian, they always reminded me of one another, but I was wrong about him, Crouch, he wasn’t- he shouldn’t have- Brian- oh, Merlin- I thought he was nice-“

Madame Pomfrey takes her off his hands when they arrive. Draco hops from foot to foot, trying to stay quiet, while Pomfrey lays the Professor out on a bed, her glossy brown hair fanning out behind her head. She checks her eyes and her breathing, asks Draco about what happened, and finally administers a sleeping draught. By the time she sends Draco away, Dumbledore is striding into the room, eyes full of fury. 

It’s the last day of term and the last time Draco walks into her office; almost everything is already packed. There is only one book on the shelf; the second orange chair is gone. She smiles at him, glossy brown hair shining and pale blue eyes sparkling. 

“Hello, Mr. Malfoy. I’d hoped you would stop by. I’ve left your book out.”

“You aren’t coming back next year, are you?”

“No.” It sounds harsher coming from her than it did from gossip in the hallway. “I’ll be heavily involved in the Crouch trial; no one knows how long it will take, and I can’t in good conscience take a job position I may be unable to show up for. And besides, I need… personal time. I haven’t been this lucid in years, but the Healers at St Mungo’s say there’s no guarantee it will last. That is time I need to spend with family.”

“…what am I supposed to do?” Draco asks quietly. His voice cracks at the end. 

Professor Jorkins smiles again, but her eyes are sad. “I got you a present.” She pulls a piece of parchment out of a binder and hands it to him. “Here. It would’ve been a Dreadful, but with the extra book reports your mother sent me-“

“What?! She found those?!”

“-you’ve achieved passing marks,” she continues. “Congratulations.” The EE looks up at him from the page. “I want you to promise me something, Mr. Malfoy.”

“What?”

She puts a hand on his shoulder and says, deathly serious, “Keep reading. I think it’s done you a lot of good. And feel free to keep that last one,” she says, nodding at the shelf. “He would’ve wanted you to have it.”

Draco, on impulse, hugs her. She laughs, hugging back. He darts over to the bookshelf and retrieves _The Lord of the Rings_ . He heads out the door, and is about to close it after himself when Professor Jorkins says, “Leave it open!”

On his way down to the feast he runs into Luna. She’s got her arms full of flyers for lost items. As she explains, her things have been going missing all year.

Draco, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from losing his temper, drags her along to the Great Hall, collects Gregory, and helps her search the whole castle top to bottom. 

As he retrieved her shoes from a secret compartment underneath the floorboards in Ravenclaw Tower, she chirps happily, “This is just like really having friends!”

Before Draco can say anything, Gregory says gruffly, “Don’t be silly, Lovegood. We are friends.”

“…oh,” she says quietly. She throws herself into Gregory’s arms, hugging him tightly, and does the same thing to Draco moments later. 

They find everything on her list. 

(For the first time in almost a year, Draco doesn’t dream.)


	4. John Moony and the Prisoner of Azkaban

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited as of 6/4/20 for typos  
Edited as of 8/28/20 for typos  
Edited as of 106/20 for typos

The light of the crescent moon illuminates the Shrieking Shack; inside is a fugitive standing off against two scarred men and the ghost of a woman who died to save the world and came back for more. 

“Sirius.” Moony’s voice is brittle but determined. He holds his wand with a firm hand, unlike Sirius himself, whose hands haven’t stopped shaking since James and Lily died. 

“Remus,” he replies. “Mad-Eye. Dorcas.”

Dorcas laughs. “Now there’s some names I haven’t heard in a while.” She’s smiling, all teeth, and though she’s seemingly floating about the Shack randomly, Sirius has noticed that more often than not she’s positioned between him and Moony.

There is so much he wants to say right now, but what winds up coming out of his mouth is, “I can explain everything.”

“Good. Start from the beginning,” Moody commands. 

They’d switched Secret Keepers. Even with Dumbledore’s assurances that the location could only be given away willingly- even confessions under torture wouldn’t count- the Fidelius Charm was so archaic and weird that Sirius hadn’t wanted to take chances. Not on the life of his best mate, his best-mate-that’s-a-girl, and an innocent baby. He came up with the idea to act as a decoy while Peter held the real secret. 

It went wrong. Peter Pettigrew went wrong. 

And then, even a decade later, as soon as he saw the rat in the photograph he knew it was Peter, alive. And he knew nobody else could bring him to justice. There was no choice in the matter. 

He almost drowned swimming to shore; the frigid cold chilled him through his thick black coat, and he couldn’t seem to stop swallowing seawater, and he almost gave up early on when it seemed like the shoreline would never get any closer. 

He made it anyway. 

The journey to Hogwarts was long. There were kind people, sometimes, with safe houses and food scraps and pitying eyes, but more often it was just him and the road and leftover memories. 

(Lily and James had their first dance to the song “Your Song” by Elton John. The Maid of Honor, Mary Macdonald, was found dead less than a month later with the upper half of her body burned so badly that they had to identify her by a tattoo on her leg. He found he could remember good things more easily if he paired them up with something awful.)

Even as an Animagus he was limited in where he could go. The sight of the Grim wasn’t a welcome one. He stuck to the edges of the school grounds; at least he could interact with the menagerie of pets on campus. One in particular, an orange cat with a smushed-up face and a trace of Kneazle heritage, was eager to help. 

Animals are unable to communicate the same way as humans, but eventually the cat- Crookshanks- got him close to Peter. They decided Halloween would be the time to strike. Unfortunately, the Fat Lady has refused to let him in to the Common Room. In his rage, Sirius had slashed at her portrait, and she’d fled, injured. 

(As a prank in seventh year, James had changed the password and only told them and Lily the new one. Frank Longbottom had gotten into a screaming match with the Fat Lady that somehow devolved into a dance-off. His wife, Alice, was pregnant with their second child when they were captured and tortured. She lost it. Lily and Sirius, the only ones she’d gotten around to telling, vowed to take the secret to the grave.)

He’d been gearing up for a second attack when these jokers had shown up. How did they find him, anyway?

Dory dragged the secret out of John immediately. He’d known as soon as he’d heard Sirius had escaped that it must have something to do with him being an Animagus. Animagi were supposed to be kept under special containment at Azkaban, but John couldn’t have stood tarnishing James and Peter’s names after their death. 

“So,” Al questioned, “why didn’t he escape years ago? And why did he kill Lucius Malfoy?”

John hadn’t had an answer. And that’s how it started. 

Trying to Apparate with a ghost didn’t work (they’d tried it before, but all that happened was that John ended up where Dory was standing and vice versa, and it gave John a headache as well) so instead they booked a flight back to the U.K., then took Muggle buses as close to Hogsmede as possible. Moody, under an Invisibility Cloak and John’s guidance, trekked up the Honeydukes secret passage and searched the school grounds. Dorcas canvassed the Forbidden Forest. When they both came up empty, John, having spent the entire trip being too quiet for his family’s taste, suggested the Shrieking Shack. 

It had been empty when they’d entered, but signs of an inhabitant were obvious- a dog bed made of rags, scraps of food on the floor, newspaper clippings haphazardly strewn about, and the reek of desperation. You aren’t helping, Dory. 

They’d only been waiting for about twenty minutes before Sirius had shown up. And you know the rest. 

“So, to be clear,” Al says, “you actually didn’t kill Lucius Malfoy?”

Sirius shrugged. “Yeah, I had nothing to do with that one. I figured someone took the chance to kill him while they could pin the blame on me. He wasn’t exactly a well-liked guy.”

John nods. “Well, if it wasn’t you, I vote that it’s not our problem.”

“Seconded. So. What do we do now?” Dory asks. 

“We catch a rat,” John says, voice hardening. 

“Yeah, but after that. We don’t have a spare bedroom. Ooh! We should get one of those Muggle couch things that pull out!”

Sirius stares at her; he has absolutely no idea what she’s talking about. 

“You said it belongs to the Weasley boy?” Al asks. “It’d be much easy to follow him home during the holiday break and capture Pettigrew from there. There will be considerably less security. Of course, we can’t discard the fact that Molly Weasley could kill any number of us, but the benefits outweigh the risks.”

John, for the first time Sirius has seen in so long, smiles. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed it until then. “Home invasion it is, then.” He turns to Dory. “And in the meantime we can put him up in Danny’s room. He won’t be home for break anyway, he’s going skiing with the Davids.”

Dory, noticing the confusion on Sirius’ face, snorts. “Oh, Black, we have so much more to catch up on, believe me.”

Break starts in two days, so they rent a minivan from a nearby village and head to the Weasley’s house. The nine and a half hour drive goes something like this.

Hour One:

“-and we have the slip framed in the living room. Baby’s First Detention! We were so proud. I’ll show you when we get home. I am so excited for you to move in, it’ll be like having a stakeout every night except less war!”

Sirius chokes on a mouthful of Pepsi. John’s eyes don’t leave the road, but his grip on the wheel tightens just slightly. 

Hour Two:

“You’ll need an alias,” Al says, interrupting Sirius and Dory’s sing-along to “What’s Up.”

“I suggest the first name start with a J,” John puts in mildly. “We went for a theme. Jamie, John. Jeffrey, for Pettigrew.”

Sirius considers it for a minute. “Joseph. Joseph Grayling.” 

“Ooh. Sexy,” Dory says, waggling her eyebrows at him. 

John finally laughs. Siri- Joseph hadn’t realized how much he misses that, too. 

Al snorts. “How is that a sexy name?”

Dory turns her attention on him, smiling viciously. “Yeah, well, just because you only like rat-poison-women-“

“What the shit is a rat-poison-woman?” John demands. 

Hour Three:

Arguing the definition of a rat-poison-woman. Also, they stop at a gas station to go to the bathroom and John buys more Pepsi and beef jerky. 

Hour Four:

(He’d only ever kissed Remus once. They’d been eighteen and stupid and it tasted like chocolate and he remembered thinking, “I never want to forget this.” Later, when they were part of the Order, James had called a meeting between him and Peter and Lily, and Peter was the only one who hadn’t cried when they all admitted they thought Remus might be the spy, and Sirius had been proud of him for finally being the strong one. He’d been proud.)

“Joseph? Joseph. Sirius. Are you okay?”

“I’m pulling over.”

“We’re on the highway, you can’t just pull over!”

“Don’t care. Al, you drive, I’ll sit back there with him.”

When Joseph comes back to himself, John is holding his hand. 

Hour Five:

“8942 bottles of beer on the wall, 8942 bottles of beer! Take one down, pass it around, 8941 bottles of beer on the wall!”

Hour Six:

They get pulled over by a policeman who recognized Joseph at the last rest stop. He leaves them alone courtesy of a well-placed Confundus, convinced that he mistook the large black dog in the backseat for a wanted fugitive. John gives him ears stritches and Dory pretends to vomit, but she’s grinning. 

Hour Seven:

Joseph falls asleep. 

Hour Eight: 

“Chartreuse!”

“Turquoise.”

“Magenta!”

“Uh, saffron!”

“Slate.”

“Ecru!”

“Hah! I already said ecru!”

“No you didn’t! When the fuck did you say ecru?”

“She said it like seven rounds ago, pay attention!”

“This is bullshit. And we’re out of beef jerky.”

Hour Nine:

They get fast food. Al uses a spell to test it for poison before they’re allowed to eat anything and Joseph steals John’s onion rings when he’s not looking. They put a symbolic chicken sandwich in Dory’s seat. 

Hour Nine.Five:

“…so after we get Pettigrew, what’s the plan?” Dory asks. 

“Al takes him to the Ministry and turns him over to them while we go back to France with Joseph. Al comes back and joins us when the coast is clear. Why?”

“The car.”

“…oh, shit,” Joseph realizes. “We have to drive it back to the rental place.”

John proceeds to beat his head against the back of the seat. 

The Moony house is located on the outskirts of Paris. It’s unassuming, disgustingly domestic, and has a British flag painted on the mail flap. 

The master bedroom is painted medium brown. Books and knitting supplies are scattered haphazardly across the floor. The bed, Joseph notes, is big enough for two. 

Al sleeps in the converted office. The layout is Spartan except for a large trunk with seven locks at the foot of the bed and a pile of sturdy chains in the corner. 

Danny’s room is covered in posters of Muggle scientists. The bedspread is blue-and-white checks, and the curtains in the window are lacy white (and, if Joseph isn’t mistaken, are enchanted with Shield Charms). There’s a shoebox on the bookshelf filled with a rainbow assortment of nail polishes. Dory, peeking through the wall, laughs fondly. “His friend Alma gave him her old collection. He brought his favorite ones to school with him.” She floats back to the master bedroom. 

John bustles in with a fresh set of sheets. Without looking up he says, “It’s not much, but it’s home.”

“It’s fantastic,” Joseph says automatically. He puts his hands in his pockets and takes them back out a second later. “How long have you lived here?”

“About five years. Before that we were in Wales. When Danny was eight he got recognized by some bloke. We were out of the country the next day. We knew no one would ever believe him.” He shrugs. “That’s when we widened the scar. It was his suggestion, if you believe it. I think he was just glad we weren’t making him wear the makeup anymore.”

Joseph smiles. It feels forced. John, finished with the sheets, turns around and rests his hand on Joseph’s shoulder. “Let me know if you need anything else. It’s no trouble.”

“I will,” Joseph lies. 

“Goodnight,” John says softly. He treads back out of the room and out of sight. 

Joseph is alone. 

He only lasts until three AM. 

He creeps out of bed slowly and neatly remakes the blankets so as not to leave John with a mess. He walks quietly through the hallway, hand on the doorknob when he hears from behind him, “Yo. Dumbass.”

Joseph startles. Dory is seated in an easy chair by the door, upside down so her head hangs down and her feet flop over the headrest. The faint moonlight from the window shines straight through her. “Dory. You scared me.”

“Good. I haven’t lost it.” She nods at the door. “You doing a runner?”

His jaw tightens. “I’m not having this conversation with you.” He backs up a few steps from the door anyway.

“Fine. I’ll do all the talking. I always liked it better that way.” She phases through the chair and floats between him and the door. 

“I never got to hold him, you know. Danny. She offered once, but I was convinced I would drop him on his head.” Dory laughs. “But I raised him the best I could. We all did. And he’s turned into an amazing young man. And John is a great guy. And you’re just going to throw it away because you think you’re intruding in our lives, or that you aren’t worthy, or you’re too broken, or you’re unloveable or unforgivable or whatever.” She swallows hard and continues, softly, “And I’m here to tell you that you’re wrong. You are not intruding on anything, and you have always been loved in this house, and you will always be forgiven.”

Joseph can’t help but smile at her. “Look at you, getting all romantic. I always knew there was a reason I wanted to sleep with you.”

She snorts. “It’s probably for the best we didn’t. We would’ve been the most insufferable power couple in the world.” She nods back to his room. “Goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She thrusts her hand into the TV, turning it on from the inside, and settles back in her chair to watch a cooking show. Joseph watches her for a few seconds before heading back to his room. “Goodnight,” he says over his shoulder.

“So. Danny. You know how we always tell you when we’re about to lie to you?” John asks, standing outside the front door. 

“Yeah,” Danny replies hesitantly. “We don’t have to move again, do we?”

“No, not this time. But this is gonna be a big one, okay?”

Danny reaches out and squeezes his hand. “Okay, Dad. I trust you.”

“Good.” John opens the door. “This is an old school mate of me and your mother. His name is Joseph Grayling, and he’s going to be living with us for a while.”

Danny stares at the man who is obviously Sirius Black wearing reading glasses and sitting in his living room, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “Do I get to tell my friends about him?”

“You can tell them you got a dog,” Dory says, floating up to give him a hug. “Welcome home, dear. Welcome home.”


	5. Dobby Freeman and the Fille Fatale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited as of 1/23/21 for French.

It’s late. The young master is asleep and the mistress is out with friends. Master is in the living room writing while Dobby does the dusting. It is a very ordinary night until he hears her. 

“Salut, Mr. Malfoy. Do you know who I am?”

Dobby sets down his feather duster and creeps over to look in the doorway. Master is on his feet, staring at a girl, maybe fifteen years old, holding his walking stick above her head. She’s beautiful, with a vicious smile on her face, but when he looks back at Master he realizes he can’t remember what she looked like. As if she were never real.

“I certainly do not,” Master replies levelly. He casually fingers a silver letter opener from his desk, using it to clean under his nails.

“Well, you’re about to. My mother was a girl named Ginevra Weasley, and she was a child, and you killed her.” She laughs as he goes pale. “Now we’re getting somewhere. My-“

He throws the letter opener at her, striking her in the chest. She gasps, black liquid spurting out over her fingers. In a flash, the girl is across the room, grappling Master to the floor. She pushes him against the wall, her grip on his arms like a vise.

“Well. I had a whole speech prepared, but do you know what? You aren’t fucking worth it.” And with that she leans up and fastens her lips against his, pulling away a few seconds later with a triumphant laugh. The word ‘Aguamenti’ is written on his lips in black. 

Master stumbles back, gasping desperately for breath as water streams from seemingly nowhere into his mouth, down his throat, bubbling and gurgling. He falls to the floor as it begins to come out of his nose. Dobby, horrified, leans against the door, which gives a loud ‘creeeeak!’

The girl turns. Her dark brown eyes bore into Dobby’s own. She makes her way over to him, slow and unhurried. 

“Hello. My name is Jennipher. Jennipher Gaunt. Jennipher with a ‘ph.’ What’s your name?”

“D-Dobby, miss.”

“Dobby. That’s a great name.” She smiles reassuringly. “You seem like the good sort, so I’m going to do you a favor. There’s thirty seconds on the clock; tell me why I shouldn’t kill you.”

“It would disappoint your mother,” Dobby squeaks.

The smile melts off Jennipher’s face. “Excuse me?”

“Your mother was a Weasley. They are a good Wizarding family! Not like the Malfoys. She would be… would be upset if you killed Dobby.”

She chews her lip, nodding to herself. After a long minute, she clicks her tongue, sits on the floor, and starts untying her shoe. “Dobby,” she says, “you belong to the Malfoys, correct?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“And I just killed Lucius Malfoy, correct?”

“…yes, Miss,” he says, giving in to the temptation to look at Master’s body laying on the floor. He quickly averts his eyes again. 

“Then I contend that you are my property by right, seized upon the death of mon ennemi. And as my property, I give you this,” she says, pulling off her sock and handing it to him. “You are officially libre- free. You can go find another wizarding family to serve; I believe there are also positions at Hogwarts, if that catches your fancy. I will, of course, be wiping your memory of this-“

“No.”

She raises her eyebrow, smiling again. “No?”

“Dobby doesn’t want to work for another family! Dobby wants to stay free!”

Jennipher laughs. “I always get stuck with the weirdos, huh?” She rises, brushing off her robes. “So? What are you going to do, Dobby the Free?”

He thinks for a moment. “Dobby would like to come with you, Miss. Dobby can tell you why not to kill other people. It is the right thing to do.”

She nods. “Ginny would’ve liked you,” she says, voice going quiet. She pats him on the head. “Alright then. Let’s go.”

She starts walking toward the front door, unhurried. “Where are we going, Miss?” Dobby asks, following her. 

“Uh… that’s kind of a complicated question, actually. Have you ever heard of a Horcrux?”


End file.
